Talk
by mustlovecat
Summary: Because after 3x10, the only way they could be them again was to talk.


**A/N **So real life has pretty much been horrible for a while – I won't bore you with the details – but I have not written anything for months. However, after 3x10 I have had so many thoughts flitting around my mind and I have been listening incessantly to Coldplay (long before Jerry decreed them to be his favourite band), so I decided I had to get this down. I have not read any spoilers for the next few episodes, so I have no idea if this could even happen on the show. I just hope to some extent a conversation like this does take place at some point. I'm not completely happy with this, but if I stare at it much longer I will just hit delete.

**A/N 2 **To those that remember HOLD ON exists (and to those that have recently found it and favourited – thanks, by the way) I have already started working on the next chapter and hope to have it out soon. I apologise for dropping off the face of the earth and hope you will accept me back.

Note: there is a minor spoiler for 3x11 (just from the previews).

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Rookie Blue. If I did, Det. Jerry Barber would still be alive. (Although I cannot deny his death has brought on some of the best acting I have ever seen on a TV show.)

* * *

Sam stood outside the door, finding that the determination he had worked up on the way over had somehow languished during the ride up in the elevator. Or rather, the resolve that had been overpowering the fear and apprehension was now being overshadowed by all of those emotions – and memories. He shook his head, bracing his hands on either side of the doorway and leaning his forehead against the cool wood. It should not be this hard. It _would not have been_ this hard if they had only done this months ago, he reminded himself.

He finally raised his hand to knock, only to hear the elevator door open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and almost smirked.

Andy did not look surprised to see him. However, she looked as apprehensive as he felt. "Hi," she said quietly. "I saw your truck downstairs. Thought I must be seeing things."

He chuckled self-deprecatingly. He deserved that. He had not gone out of his way to see her, talk to her – even really acknowledge her – in weeks. It just hurt too much. It had been the realization that it was his own damn fault for sitting idly by when there was something they could do to fix it that had spurred him on today. "Thought we should talk."

"Really. Why now?" She fidgeted with the sleeves on her coat, keeping her gaze averted, as if steeling herself against whatever his response might be.

"McNally, can we maybe not do this out here?" he requested, his hand waving a little absent-mindedly at the hallway.

She took a breath, then nodded. She walked over and put her key in the lock, closing her eyes for a moment at their close proximity. He was standing right beside her and she could smell him – leather, laundry detergent, and _Sam_. It was the closest he had been since the morning everything had gone to hell and it was nearly enough to bring back the tears she had done her damnedest to keep at bay since. She quickly regained her senses and unlocked her door, walking inside and dropping her keys on the side table. She unzipped her coat and pulled it off, turning to look at him a little expectantly as he followed her in, closing the door behind him then hesitating once again in the entryway. She swallowed hard. She knew they had to talk. If there was anyway to make this better, they had to talk. Everything just still felt so raw and she was not sure she could take a conversation which had, as its end, him walking away again. And she really did not expect any other conclusion. She had been hurt and let down too many times before to expect anything else.

Sam read the myriad of things going through her mind and furrowed his brow, knowing he was one more person on a long list of others who had disappointed and hurt her. He had stood in the locker room and defended himself against looking into her mother with the line that he would hate for Claire to break her heart again. And barely two months later, he had left her standing in the rain. "I'm sorry," he offered simply as a starting point.

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. She knew she should say something – she was hardly blameless. The last few weeks had done well to point that out to her. However, she could not quite bring herself to speak, still not sure where this was going.

"There was a lot that wasn't working, Andy, and we chose to ignore it. Maybe because neither of us knew how to do it any better. But I'm sorry that I left. After I promised you I'd fight and work at it with you, I'm sorry I left."

She took a breath. "Can we work at it? I mean, is there a way for us to do this better? Or were you right when you said it was trouble from the start?"

"If I really believed that, you think I would have come after you that night at the Alpine?" He sighed. "Look, Andy, there's a difference between wanting something so bad it hurts, and knowing what to do once you get it. I have spent more time undercover than above the last seven, eight years. And before that – I was never what you'd call _settled_. I'm used to dealing with stuff on my own because that's just the way it's always been. The one time I thought it was going to be different – " He cleared his throat. "Well, you left."

Her eyes widened at the quiet accusation. And then she leaned back against the couch to keep from falling as her legs weakened, because she knew he was right. "I thought I was protecting us both," she defended herself softly. However, in retrospect and out loud it sounded like a weak excuse. So: "I didn't – I was afraid I'd cost you your badge only to have you figure out I wasn't even worth it."

"You think I would've been so pissed off when you got back if I didn't think you were worth it. I've known since that first day in that locker room that you were worth whatever happened."

A little stung, she averted her eyes

"I – I'm not saying it's your fault. I didn't exactly convince you to stay. Honestly, I never exactly let you know where you stood. We're not – Neither of us are very good at this talking thing." He quirked an eyebrow at her then, _neither of us _not just some turn of phrase.

"My mother."

"She showed up, and you shut down. Andy, you told me it wasn't my concern. And I know I didn't go about that whole thing the right way, but anything that affects you – that has the power to hurt you – it's my concern."

"I know. I shouldn't have gone off on you about that," she agreed.

"Fact is, we were both fumbling our way through. And my way was to hold on too tight."

"Sometimes. But sometimes it felt like you weren't holding on at all," Andy confessed quietly.

Sam stuffed his hands in the pocket of his jeans, nodding his assent.

"But – When it mattered, you needed time and space and we know how horrible I am at that. I pushed too hard and I just ended up pushing you away."

"You didn't." He closed some of the distance between them, ducking his head a little to meet her gaze. "I want to make something clear: I don't blame you for Jerry. I don't even blame myself. Not anymore. The fault lies in the son-of-a-bitch holding the knife. But we can't ignore the fact that there _was_ an error in judgment that day, and that is neither of us should have been working. You were driven by guilt over Peck, misplaced as it may have been – and I was weighed down with fear. Because the truth, Andy, is that the thought of anything happening to you terrifies me. And I cannot honestly say that if it came down to your life or anyone else's, that I would uphold the oath we both live by."

"So what does that mean?"

"That if we decide to do this – We can't be partners anymore."

Andy absorbed the admission and felt her eyes fill with tears. She knew he was right. Deep down, she knew that was the only way this could ever work – the only way they could ever be a _them _again. But when she had spent the past three years trusting him with her life while in uniform, it was a hard pill to swallow. She finally nodded slowly, swiping away the couple tears that managed to escape.

"You were right: despite the fact that being with you was what I had wanted for longer than I'm proud to admit, once it happened, I wasn't all in. I don't know if it's because I didn't trust you not to run, or if I didn't trust myself not to screw everything up…You deserve better and if you give us another chance, you'll never have to doubt that I'm in this. But I need to know that you're in this with me," he said seriously. He hesitated for only a brief moment, then said to hell with it and reached out, framing her face in his hands, touching her for the first time in weeks and almost reveling at finally feeling her skin underneath his fingertips. "I have my own mistakes to make up for, I know that. But I shouldn't be held to pay for anyone else's."

"I didn't…" But then she trailed off, because whether she was ever conscious of it or not, she did always hold him at a bit of a distance, thinking that just like her mother, father, Luke – he would eventually let her down. "I guess we both have to work on trusting each other with our hearts the way we've never thought twice about doing with our lives." She took a deep breath, then said, "But I love you, Sam. And I want us back."

That was all the permission he needed. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss full of promise. He quickly deepened the kiss as she grasped the zipper of the leather jacket he was still wearing. "McNally…" he almost growled when they came up for air.

She pulled back a bit, and seeing the expression on his face, how dark his eyes had become, she bit her lip as she reached up and pushed his jacket off, letting it fall with a thud onto the hardwood. "Is this a bad idea?" she wondered aloud. "This is a bad idea."

"Only if we think it will fix everything. But we both know sex has never been one of our problems," he replied, remaining close, his hands settling on her hips, fingertips grazing the warm skin between where her jeans ended and her shirt had ridden up.

"It's just – I've missed you."

He raised a hand to her cheek, stroking her skin with his thumb as he nodded. God, had he missed her. He had tried to tell himself he could live with the ache inside of his chest. That if it meant he was a better cop and she was safe and alive, it was a small price to pay. It had taken a while after he had emerged from the haze of grief to realize that just because she was no longer his girlfriend, it would not make him feel any less, worry any less.

"But we're – I mean, we're going to try this again, right? Because I can't be with you if it's just some goodbye."

"I don't want us to be over, Andy," he said with more conviction than had underlied any words he had ever spoken before. He kissed her again, no intention other than to start making up for lost time. It had not been what he had thought it would be. After two years – after a blackout-best-mistake-of-their-lives, a shot to the vest, a burnt out laundromat and a too-big-for-her-finger diamond. Once he had her, it was not what he had been expecting. Because then he had to keep her. Keep her happy, keep her safe. It was all on him and he was unprepared for it. For the responsibility. And the ever-present fear that now that he had her, he could lose her. The thought of him or her one day being in Jerry's position, the other left behind like Nash – it had been too much. But the past few weeks had taught him that being without her – he would rather play the odds. Because sentencing them both to misery certainly was no way to honour Jerry's sacrifice.

Hours later, he slid out of Andy's bed and padded through the loft to the kitchen, helping himself to a glass of water. His gaze caught the book sitting on the counter. With a slight roll of his eyes, he reached over and picked it up: _Good Riddance: How to Ditch that Loser and Keeping Smiling_. He thumbed through it, snorting at the advice. The only consolation was that it must not have been that effective, considering he had seen Andy smile little the past few weeks.

He walked over, his foot easily finding the lever on the garbage can in the corner, and as it opened, he unceremoniously dropped the book inside. He then retrieved his glass of water, poured one for Andy, and returned to her bedroom.

She stirred as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. "Hey," she greeted with a sleepy smile.

"Hey." He reached over, brushing her tousled hair from her face. "There's, uh – There's something I should have told you earlier."

Seeing the intense expression on his face, she furrowed her brow a little, sitting up. "What is it?"

He cleared his throat. "Just so there's no question: I love you, Andy. More than I've ever loved anyone."

A smile lit up her face and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I know."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I know you don't let just anyone drive your truck, let alone hang on to the extra keys."

He chuckled. "Hmm."

She kissed him languidly, then rested her forehead against his. "I love you. And we're gonna be okay."

"Yes, we are."


End file.
